


Honor (Regained)

by skylinesunflowers



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen, Iroh is a good uncle, Iroh loves tea, Proverbs, Tea, Uncle-Nephew Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylinesunflowers/pseuds/skylinesunflowers
Summary: Zuko is impatient, but, one day, he will learn.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Honor (Regained)

**Author's Note:**

> The real relationship here is Iroh & Confusing Proverbs.

_A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song. — Chinese proverb_

Apparently, the type of men that the middle-to-lower class girls of Ba Sing Se went after were tall, dark, and handsome. Or so Uncle Iroh said after the third girl this week, petite, bone-thin, and pale, blushed furiously as she asked to take Zuko to dinner.

Fact was, Zuko was homesick for the ocean. Where Uncle’s obsession with tea and pai sho was merely an activity to pass the time, rather than his livelihood. Where there was a crew to keep him busy, rather than Zuko with his “hot leaf juice” and lack of pai sho strategy.

He was so near capturing the Avatar, and, yet, the child of barely twelve had eluded him. All because he lacked a plan, something which had gotten him into this predicament in the first place.

Ba Sing Se had cold evenings, ones that Uncle claimed were “spiritually fascinating”. Cheap lights went on around the city, cold and metallic within their cages. Occasionally, an earthbender or two would pass their new apartment in robes of the most lavish gold and green.

Uncle Iroh, in his green robes, lay a warm, heavy hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “Nephew, I want to try out a new blend of ginseng that was shipped in yesterday. Would you care for a cup?”

Zuko made no reply. He had come to learn that, despite his most violent protests, he would choke down Uncle Iroh’s tea in the end.

“You know, Prince Zuko, a smile will gain you ten years more of life.”

There is was. One of Uncle’s ancient Chinese proverbs. He hadn’t used one in the Jasmine Dragon today, not even under his breath when Zuko, in a wild attempt to escape a blushing girl who offered him dinner, dropped two cups of his finest patterned china.

“Maybe I don’t want ten years added on to this life,” Zuko muttered, undoing the belt to his simple robe.

“Is that any way to talk?” Iroh’s voice was pleasant, but held an ominous undertone. He’d better leave this trail of conversation alone.

“Uncle,” he began, and stopped. Uncle had lost his son in this very city. It wouldn’t do either one any good to hold a conversation about death.

“I could have apprehended the Avatar,” he began. Uncle Iroh’s forehead creased, clearly unhappy at the change of topic. “I _had_ him, Uncle. We were going home. And, then, Azula showed up, like she _always_ does, and now we’re stuck in this infuriating city!”

It was a mark of his increasing anger that he did what he did next: kicking over the bucket of water that stood beside the door that led to the bathroom.

The crease between Uncle’s eyebrows deepened, and Zuko felt a phantom pain in his scar. Wincing away a faint recollection (sharp, burning pain and the harsh words: _“You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher!”_ ) he went to collect the bucket.

“I apologize for my insolence,” he said numbly, gathering the bucket into his hands. He missed the ocean; not just the ocean, but home in the Fire Nation.

“Nephew, only one who swallows his insults is a man.”

What? Did that imply he wasn’t a man, or did it mean that he was a man, and that he’d swallowed an insult? This was why those Agni damned proverbs were useless!

Zuko sat down suddenly, overcome by exhaustion. He hadn’t done a lick of work all day, ruined two of his uncle’s best china cups, and kicked the bucket in which Iroh kept his tea water. If Uncle was angry, he had good reason to be.

“Keep your temper under control, Prince Zuko, and you will find Ba Sing Se to be kinder to you than it has.”

Uncle Iroh’s hand was on his shoulder again, and he brought Zuko into a loose hug. With a groan, he sat himself down beside Zuko. His robes smelled of various blends of green tea.

“I have found myself in great difficulty using the spark rocks,” he said, crossing his legs comfortably. “They are inconvenient when compared to the power of firebending.”

“What does this have to do with insults?”

“I do not have all the answers. Now, come, Nephew. While we may not practice bending, I plan to indulge in a fresh cup of tea and some breathing exercises.”

Zuko meant to mutter, “Hot leaf juice,” but the words stuck in his throat. He followed his uncle to the corner of their apartment, overlooking a busy road in the center of Ba Sing Se.

However hard this was for him, it had to be a thousand times worse for Uncle Iroh, the Dragon of the West. His uncle, who sent him presents while he prepared for the upcoming speech, not knowing the devastating consequences he would bring upon himself.

When their session concluded, Uncle filled the bucket once more, and got to work on his ginseng. Zuko traded his robe for a pair of loose linen shorts, and sat on the edge of his mat, listening to Iroh hum one of the many obscure songs he taught during Music Night.

He would come up with a plan to catch the Avatar, and then he would lay siege to the Fire Nation capital. They could go home, equally welcomed and feared by everyone who ever doubted him. Them.

For now, the Jasmine Dragon, strange blends of ginseng, and an apartment in the Upper Ring would do. One day, Zuko decided, he would remember it fondly when he drove something sharp into his sister’s heart.

She would watch him laugh as he, her inadequate brother, and Uncle Iroh, his Royal Tea-Loving Kookyness, sat upon the throne that belonged to the man who scarred him.


End file.
